


Sometimes You Have To Be A Little Bit Naughty

by skyline



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Communication Failure, F/M, M/M, Scheming, fake!dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2332103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just sex. And hijinks. And sometimes sex-jinks, if that was a thing. There was definitely a lot of roleplay involved. And Camille had felt like it was going really, really well until right this minute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes You Have To Be A Little Bit Naughty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frogy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogy/gifts).



> Er, so this is late. But I hope it's semi-decent? It's really hard to write fluff when you're broken-hearted and also overloaded on grad school, but it turns out that you find muses in strange places. Anyway. Um. Have a pairing I've never written. Title stolen from Matilda (the musical) because it's great and I'm lazy. (And again, I'm really sorry about how late it is. I'm usually way more punctual with fic, especially when it's this short.)

Camille’s thighs bracket James’s hips, tight, and she moans. In the history of history, nothing has ever felt so good, so right, so-  
  
“Are you not paying attention to me?”  
  
She doesn’t mean to shriek it. Only, how is it even possible that she’s ready to take her panties off and James doesn’t even care? Camille is not a person that happens to, not ever. Her partners express passionate interest or they don’t get to be her partners.  
  
“James!” She smacks him in one of his (extraordinarily hard, dreamy) pectorals. “What’s up?”  
  
All James does is sigh. Mournfully. Somberly. Not at all sexily.  
  
“Did I make you _sad_?” Camille demands, and if that’s a warning in her voice, James will probably miss it, because bright is not his forte.  
  
“No. But.” James nibbles on his lower lip and looks particularly smackable. “Logan’s got a date.”  
  
Camille blinks. Then she blinks again. Admittedly, she’s thought about Logan during sex with James. She dated the guy for years, and sometimes she misses that – the deep emotional connection of being really, truly, intimate. But James probably should not be having those same exact thoughts.  
  
Probably.  
  
“You’re thinking about Logan right now?”  
  
James opens his mouth. Then he closes his mouth. Then he opens his mouth again. “Maybe?”  
  
The way that Camille and James became unofficial friends with benefits is this:  
  
James was dating this girl for like, a week, that he swore up and down was the love of his life. When she broke his overzealous heart, he slut spiraled, because that is how James Diamond does. There was a very real concern going around the Palmwoods that he’d pick up a recreational disease, like say, syphilis. So that was a thing.  
  
And then, because Camille isn’t so great at coping with real human problems either, she maybe (drunkenly) allowed herself to become one of James’s conquests. Because (drunkenly) she could kind of admit that for a long while now, she’d liked him.  
  
James was very likeable, okay?  
  
But it was just sex. And hijinks. And sometimes sex-jinks, if that was a thing. There was definitely a lot of roleplay involved. And Camille had felt like it was going really, really well until right this minute.  
  
Because apparently James’s heart was already taken.  
  
“Okay.” Camille rolls herself off of James, idly fixing her hair and trying not to let her heart sink too far down into her stomach. “Logan has a date. We should do something about that.”  
  
“I know, right?” James lights up, all brilliant grin and perfectly sculpted chest muscles. It was really a shame to waste all that on Logan, who had once ignored Camille’s naked perfection for a full five minutes in favor of playing Sudoku on his phone and texting Kendall. “What do we do?”  
  
“I’ll figure something out.” Camille pats James on the hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”  
  
And the thing is, despite the disappointment, she will. Casting directors look at her and think they can see inside of her soul, like that’s what lives inside her big brown eyes. They think she’s silly, or girly, or dramatic. For some reason they always miss the practical, intelligent side of her, the part that knows what she has to do, and commits to it every time.  
  
So this time, she’s going to get James and Logan together.  
  
Even if it breaks her own heart.

  
\---

  
  
“I need a plan,” Camille moans, kicking her feet against the wall.  
  
Lucy glares at the scuff marks she’s leaving on the paint, but doesn’t say anything other than, “So think one up.”  
  
“You. Did you know James was gay?” Camille asks accusingly, trying to look intimidating, but it’s really hard upside down, and Lucy doesn’t really understand the concept of fear anyway. It’s one of the greatest things about her.  
  
What’s not so great is the way she shrugs and says, “If he could have sex with himself, he would. I imagine that extends to anything with legs.”  
  
“You dated him for like, an entire month.”  
  
“Until he got bored and went for that Italian pop singer.” Lucy frowns, pausing mid-mash. She’s making guacamole. Lucy makes great guac, which is also a great thing about her. “I never should have invited him on tour with me.”  
  
“You did get that hit single out of it,” Jo points out from the other couch, where she’s curled up with a book on space for her new movie about the first teenage girl astronaut.  
  
“I Got Dumped For Her Again,” Camille agrees.  
  
Jo rolls her eyes and doesn’t look the least bit concerned about anything, even previous hit singles that may or may not have involved herself. “Boys are idiots.”  
  
“Such idiots,” Lucy agrees, throwing herself down on the couch beside Jo. They bump shoulders and grin.   
  
Camille takes this camaraderie to mean she isn’t getting guacamole any time soon. “I need a plan. A plan to get Logan and James to bang.”  
  
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Jo comments, idly flipping through her book. She’s paying attention, because Jo multi-tasks like nobody’s business, but she’s doing a really awesome job of acting like she’s not. Camille appreciates that. She feels a little…well, pathetic.  
  
Which totally isn’t okay. Camille is extremes. She is fire and she is ice. She is hot and she is cold. She is too intense or too frigid. She’s never something so mundane as _pathetic_. Ugh.  
  
“I feel cheap,” she announces, with appropriate levels of drama. It doesn’t stop Lucy or Jo from giving her exceedingly pitying looks, but they continue to hide it well. Gently, Camille straightens herself and lays her head against the armrest of Lucy’s sofa. “I really thought he was going to ask me out.”  
  
Yeah, she knows she’s talking about James, who has serial commitment issues. But. They just clicked. They always have. She hates herself for thinking that she would be the girl to change James Diamond’s heart. Better girls have tried.  
  
Hell, _Lucy’s_ tried.  
  
“What I need to do,” Camille barrels on, trying to cover up for the huge faux pas she just made, of like, being an idiot, “Is suss out how Logan feels.”  
  
Jo opens her mouth, looking a lot like she wants to explain again how meddling isn’t a great idea, but she knows better than to say anything.  
  
“I’m going to go find him,” Camille decides, because this course of action is obviously both wise and just. She’s going to have him and James smushing their faces together by the end of the night.

\---

  
“Hey guys. Have you seen Logan?”  
  
James and Carlos glance up from the game of chess – Camille blinks, checking again, and yes, _chess_ – that they’re playing. She’s about to say something appropriately shocked, and then she notices the patterns laid out in front of them.  “You do know chess isn’t played that way, right?”  
  
James glances down at the board, where pawns and knights and rooks are artfully engaged in combat. “My ponies are storming her castles. I’m going to get the queen.”  
  
“Yeah but-“  
  
“You obviously didn’t play enough King Arthur with me and Kendall as a kid.”  
  
“…okay. Logan?” She prompts.  
  
“Why would you want him when I’m right here?” James asks, mustering up a pout. Camille glares at him. If only he knew that she was doing this for _him_.  
  
“He’s in his room,” Carlos says, pretty intent on creating a tableau of pawns charging the king. “Sulking.”  
  
Camille doesn’t ask why, because half of Logan’s existence involves making pouty faces and whining about how he needs new friends, like he doesn’t love the ones he has more than anything. Lucky bastard. “Great. James, be in the lobby at eight. It’s date night!”  
  
She rabbits out of the room before he can raise a single objection, bounding straight towards Logan’s sternly closed door. Because Camille doesn’t really believe in things like boundaries, she opens it without knocking and announces, “You’re going on a date with James.”  
  
Logan, in full on sulk mode, evidenced by the fact that he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed without even a book for company, blinks. “You know I’m not gay, right?”  
  
Without missing a beat, Camille repeats, “You’re going on a date with James.”  
  
Logan will figure out that whole sexual identity crisis thing _afterwards_. He makes this squinty, constipated face that means he’s thinking. Then he says, “That’s it. You’ve finally cracked.”  
  
Camille smacks him because she can. “I’m trying to do something selfless and loving here, okay? Don’t sass me.”  
  
“If it’s selfless and loving, people don’t usually, you know, point that kind of thing out-“ Logan ducks another hit flying his way. “Why are you so adamant about this?”  
  
She shrugs, backing up a step. It’s hard to put into words how it feels, how it _always_ feels, when you think you know a person and what exactly they want from you, and then they turn around and say or do the complete opposite. You find out you’ve spent some of the best parts of your life with a stranger. She hadn’t expected it of James, but then again, Camille never expected it of any of the previous guys she was with. It was always a big damn surprise.  
  
When it becomes obvious that she’s not going to answer, Logan whines again, “I’m not gay.”  
  
“Please,” Camille mutters. She hooks her hand through his elbow and starts dragging him out of his room, past the intense not-chess game, where James gives her a confused little wave, and then straight out of the apartment.

\---

  
“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Logan says doubtfully, peering down at Jo’s blonde head, which is hovering a little bit too close to his inseam.  
  
Supportively, Lucy says, “You look great,” but the effect is lessened by how she won’t look up from her guitar.   
  
He really does, though. Look great. All suave in his brand new suit.  
  
Camille feels like nothing. Camille feels like no one.  
  
Impatiently, she tugs at Logan’s arm. “Come on, it’s almost eight.”  
  
She drags him to the lobby, where she’s set up an immaculate spread, complete with all of James’s favorite foods, including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. It’s classy and romantic and exactly what any first date should be. The massive frown on Logan’s face could use a little  
sprucing up, but other than that, Camille thinks it’s perfect.  
  
She keeps right on thinking that until the elevator dings and James steps out.  
  
From the moment he spots them, he’s lasered in on Logan. Like he’s the center of the entire freaking universe. Camille’s there; she dances on the edge of James’s awareness, but all she desperately wants is to be dead center of his attention.  
  
That’s about when she figures out that scheming was a horrible idea.  
  
“Hey Camille. Hey, Logan.” James makes a confused face. It’s adorable. “Why is Logan here?”  
  
“My sentiments exactly,” Logan mutters.  
  
Camille steps on his foot. “For your date.”  
  
James blinks. Then he blinks again. “My date with you?”  
  
“No, silly.” She grits her teeth and forces a laugh at the same time, and it sounds exactly as painful as it is. “Your date with him.”  
  
Slowly, like it’s crank-operated, James’s mouth drops open. He does his best fish impression for nearly a minute before managing, “What? Was that even English, because I don’t understand?”  
  
“Great, you broke him,” Logan snarks, leaning back in his chair. Then the whole thing nearly topples over. Watching him flail is intensely satisfying, in Camille’s opinion.  
  
“Was this your idea?” James splutters accusingly, glaring at him.  
  
“No!” Logan keeps flailing. “I’m not gay!”  
  
“Sure you’re not, buddy,” James replies unconvincingly, but he’s looking at Camille. “Explain.”  
  
“Um. So. The thing is-“ Camille considers yelling _run_ , because that is a method she often employs during zany plans, but she’s pretty sure James already knows all the best hiding spots in the Palmwoods. Instead she takes a deep breath and says, “You were sad because Logan’s going on a date. So I made sure the date was with you.”  
  
It sounds meeker than she likes, somehow.  
  
“I. You. What?” James asks, completely exasperated.  
  
“That actually kind of made sense, if you speak Camille,” Logan provides. He is so unhelpful.  
  
“I didn’t want you to be sad,” Camille tries again, shuffling her feet a little. She tries not to stare at the ground, which is the universal sign of _shame_ , and she is so not ashamed of trying to commit a good deed. Even if James looks kind of pissed off about it.  
  
“Camille. I was bummed because _we_ never go on dates.”  
  
That is blatantly untrue. “We got on dates all the time.”  
  
“Going to bed is not a date!” James explains, and then looks absolutely disgusted at himself for the very concept. Bed is basically James’s favorite place, after all.  
  
“Oh my god, that visual.” Logan drops his head to the table and moans again, “Oh my god.”  
  
Camille’s not sure if he’s miserable or turned on. She decides she doesn’t really want to know. “What I’m getting here is that you…want to go…on a date…with me?”  
  
She doesn’t quite mean for it to be a question.  
  
“Duh,” James waggles his eyebrows at her. “I might even like it if you were my girlfriend.” Abruptly shy, he adds, “If, you know, you wanted that.”  
  
Camille shrieks and tackles him over the back of a Palmwoods couch. Her mouth touches down, and for a second, everything is absolutely perfect, with James leaning into her, kissing her hard and sweet.  
  
They’re interrupted by the sound of Logan pushing his chair back in a huff. He announces, “Guys, I’m going to go on my real date now. With a girl. Because I’m _not gay_.”  
  
James’s heart’s beating strong beneath Camille, his legs spread to make sure she barely even touches the floor, and he’s staring up at her like she is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He murmurs in her ear, “He’ll figure it out eventually.”  
  
She laughs, and kisses him again, happiness bubbling over in her chest.


End file.
